Almost
by beeconn
Summary: Tired of living in a world of "almost's," Killian chooses to leave the friendship he has spent the past three years building with Emma for a life in Los Angeles. He finds a career in the music business helping bands write songs. One day, Emma hears a song on the radio that sounds like a familiar, but unpleasant, story and begins a journey to regain the almost love she lost.
1. Chapter 1

As they sat on the couch, he swore he could touch the electricity between the two of them and die from shock. Her hair was cascading down her side into a perfectly messy braid. She was laughing at an offhanded joke he made seconds earlier, and their eyes met for a second too long. His eyes darted to her lips and back. There was a tightness in his chest and blood in his ears, as if his body knew what was coming next. He was afraid that if he touched her, he might not live to see the sun rise the next day.

That doesn't stop him, though.

Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out to touch her long blonde braid and their lips met. If his heart were to beat any faster, it would, without a doubt, burst open. The kiss was over before it even began.

"What the fuck, Killian?" her eyes were fierce and full of fire. His were wide and full of terror.

She rose from the couch and walked across the small apartment living room to the small kitchen and leaned against the edge of the sink, arms crossed, and cocked an eyebrow.

"Emma, I—" he made an attempt to get off the couch and walk towards her.

"Save it," she cut him off. "You know this can never work."

Really, he should have seen this coming. They had lived together for two years, in a run-down apartment, and their friendship had been teetering on a thin line between "more than friends" and "best friends."

Most of the time, it leaned to the side of "best friends." Which he didn't mind, most of the time. It was only when she brought home boyfriends who would scream and shout, followed by one night stands with guys he still sees in passing on the streets. There was a break in the cycle of awful partners, right after a nasty breakup, when he noticed Emma looking at him with such love and longing in her eyes that he thought there might be a chance. And there was.

Almost.

She must have noticed the apology in his eyes because she sighed heavily and ran a hand over her eyes. "Look— I… I don't know. I don't know what's been going on with you these past few months… But… T-this isn't working anymore. Maybe it's time I start looking for a different place to live."

This lit a fire in his soul. A dark, stinging, burning feeling, that made it feel like bile was rising up his throat. He swallowed it down and cleared his throat. She's running. He knew it. He was angry, hurt, and surprised. They had been watching a movie on television. Everything had been fine. She had leaned in, too. His surprise faded and was replaced by hurt which, as many may know, comes out in the form of anger.

"No need, Swan. I would hate to inconvenience you any more than I already have. I'll be out of your hair by the end of the week."

He heard the words as they left his mouth, laced with venom, and they barely sounded like his own. The look on her face said that she was just as surprised as he was at his declaration.

"Don't be stupid, Killian. Where would you even go?" she hid behind a cold tone of voice, but her eyes were full of worry. Neither of them meant the words that they were saying. But she is too stubborn and so is he. They were at an impasse, and he was the first to make a move.

"Well, like you've said, love, I need to get off my arse and actually do something with my life. It's not your worry where I end up, is it? Like you said," he sneered, "this isn't working anymore."

He left her there in the kitchen as he strode to his room and lightly slammed the door. He almost felt like he was overreacting, but there was no time to back down. Before he could change his mind, he got online and booked the first flight he could find to Los Angeles.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not hard to pack his belongings into two checked bags and a small carryon. Paying the extra baggage fee was cheaper than driving from Dallas to Los Angeles, anyway. Writing for a living had always made him restless and instilled a need to be able to pick up his life and move at any moment if he needed. Although running isn't something he had done much in the past, he was more thankful than ever for his lack of material possessions.

Looking back on the past three years, he really shouldn't have been surprised at the way last night's events transpired. He was infatuated with her the second he saw her in the University's library his senior year of college. He knew he had to be closer to her. Picking up his laptop, he moved to a table next to her, not quite ready to make a fool out of himself with the words that would tumble out of his mouth awkwardly. For someone who is known for his witty writing and quick retorts, he is always at an incredible loss of words when she is in the vicinity.

He came back to the same table at the library the next day, and she was there again. They worked like this in silence, a mere five feet from one another, for the remainder of the semester. During finals week, he finally worked up the nerve to bring her a cup of coffee. When he put it down next to her, her smile was as glorious as he had imagined it would be.

At that moment, though, he realized he needed to tone down the infatuation he had fallen into and actually get to know the wonder of a woman who he sat next to for a whopping ten weeks without exchanging a word.

To no one's surprise, they became friends quickly.

When Killian's roommate, David, decided to move out at the end of winter term, he asked if she needed somewhere to live.

"Dumb question, I know, it's the middle of the school year," his hand moved to scratch behind his newly reddened ear while he looked away.

"Actually, I don't have anywhere to be once the term ends. I've been looking for a while now," a slight blush appeared on her cheeks and he wondered where she had been sleeping.

He found out a few weeks later she had been couch surfing and sleeping in her car.

The next five months went by in a blur, and he found himself walking across a stage to receive the most expensive piece of paper he had ever owned. And the hardest he had ever worked for a damn piece of paper that says he had an extensive knowledge of literature and creative writing.

It has been over a year since that day. He had a fight with Emma more than once about getting a "real job" and "growing the fuck up" when the electricity had been turned off one too many times. _Really,_ he mused, _she wasn't wrong._ His writing gigs were always a hit or miss type of operation. He had a column in the local newspaper once a week, and he worked on and off at a coffee shop around the corner. It wasn't that he didn't make money, and more of that he didn't make money consistently. It was time for him to "grow the fuck up."

Leaving the apartment in the early hours of the morning without a note hadn't felt very grown up to him. And he almost felt bad. But as he watched the sun rise out of the large airport windows, he couldn't quite bring himself to care enough to feel really guilty. It was her suggestion. His phone was off and packed away in one of his bags _. Maybe I'll change the number,_ he thought as they called his group to board the plane. _No, that would be childish._ She wasn't in the wrong to reject him so thoroughly. And the problem wasn't even her. It was him. He had put his life on hold for someone who was just a friend. He had been holding onto the chance of almost for too long.

It was time to move on.

Last night, a rushed email to his friend Robin confirmed that he would have a place to sleep at least for a month or so. Robin worked for a major recording studio and had a few leads on bands that needed help putting their thoughts into words.

Sometimes he would get words and phrases stuck in his head like songs. Repeating over and over until he thought he would go insane if he couldn't write it down. In the airport, he had the word "almost" stuck in his head. Almost had her… almost loved her…

* * *

 **So, to be honest, I mostly just started publishing this for my friends to read. I never imagined more than two people would be following this! THANKS! I hope you like it as much as I do. I was going to try to space out chapters and publish once a week or so, but then I got excited. The story title and most of the concepts come from the song "Almost" by Bowling for Soup. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Emma awoke after a mostly sleepless night. The fight they had had four days earlier left her restless and anxious and unable to fall into a deep sleep. Each night she would have nightmares of being in long, dark hallways connected by elaborate staircases, and calling out for help, for Killian. All that had answered was an echo of her own voice. The hallways would start to get smaller, the staircases led to nowhere, and she would start to fall, which would start her into consciousness.

Normally the smell of coffee and some form of breakfast being made woke her up. She checked the clock. It was 10:05 A.M. on Saturday morning and unreasonably quiet. After living with Killian for so long, she had come to accept the fact that the man rose when the sun did, and he believed everyone should do the same.

Normally, he would sing loudly in the kitchen while making breakfast to wake her up. It wasn't until she woke up without the usual sounds that she realized how much she loved the routine she claimed to abhor.

The fight. The past few days she had woken early and returned late at night in a sad attempt to avoid confrontation.

She audibly groaned and threw the sheets off herself, reluctantly getting out of bed. She hadn't meant what she said, no matter how her words came out. She had wanted him to kiss her, had felt the same blood rush in her ears, and the fluttering in her stomach. It was just scary, the culmination of three years of rising action all leading up to one moment, and she wasn't really ready for the climax yet. The scars on her heart were still healing from the last man who had taken a stab at her a few too many times. Killian helped heal the wounds, and for that she would be forever thankful. Moving forward with him, though, it all felt too soon.

Which was illogical, and she knew it. From the second he brought her coffee on the day she had run out of beans to make her own, she knew something about him was different than the other men she engaged with. It was that difference, though, that made her want to hold onto their friendship for dear life, afraid of ruining the one good thing in her life by trying to turn it into more.

 _This wouldn't be the end of it, though,_ she thought as she made her way out of her bedroom. _It was just a fight. People fight all the time. It doesn't mean anything is over._

She had decided she would give him the time he needed to cool off, and then they could talk about everything. She had needed the time to get things in her head straight and lay out what she wanted to say. Now she felt ready to talk with him about it. She would let him know she wasn't going to move out, and ask him to stay. She would tell him she had always felt something towards him and see what he said. Then she would go from there. That was her plan. More or less. While she mused on this, she began to make the coffee and the pancakes that would serve as a peace offering of sorts.

Emma had thought the smell of coffee and pancakes would get him out of bed and into the kitchen, even when he was in his foulest of moods, it had worked every time. Alas, he didn't come out. She considered that maybe he had left already, but that couldn't be right. Saturdays were the days they spent together. Roommate day. They had a routine of breakfast, grocery shopping, trashy afternoon television, making dinner together, and taking turns picking movies from Netflix. This week, it was his turn to pick a movie after she accidentally picked a terrible movie about a mom who gets hit in the head with a soccer ball, decides she's no longer happy with her life, and becomes a prostitute.

With the food finished, she decided it was probably time to move on to the grocery store without him. He's not a huge fan of the adventures that come along with the visit anyway.

She put tin foil over the plate of pancakes and left the apartment, trying to ignore the set of keys she noticed on the edge of the counter, with full faith that he would be there when she came back, movie chosen, and ready to talk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Quick note: Thank you for reviews and following love and everything and UGH so excited. You're all da realest. I have no schedule, this has no schedule, sorry. Happy happy Friday, friends :)**

* * *

Emma returned later in the evening and it seemed as though nothing in the apartment had been touched. The plate of pancakes still sat as she had left it and the keys were still on the edge of the counter. A slight feeling of familiar panic coursed through her and settled as a tightness in her chest and a numbness in her fingers. _He wouldn't just leave,_ she assured herself. _Not without a note at least._

She tentatively walked to the door that was straight across the living room from her bedroom door and knocked quietly. "Killian?" she breathed, her words still holding a slight tinge of useless hope under the surface. Slowly and cautiously, she turned the doorknob, a total and complete sense of dread washing over her. Somehow, she knew what was behind the door before she opened it. Her eyes confirmed her suspicion she had hoped was untrue: he was gone.

The room had once been covered in magazine articles and posters of his favorite bands and authors, maps of his travels, and the places he hoped to go were represented with travel brochures tacked to the wall above his desk. The walls were now eerily bare, and apparently had been painted blue at some point. The desk was usually covered in some mix of empty coffee cups, notebooks, CD cases, and more pens than one ever actually needed to own. All that remained were the bare bones of the room, and her instincts told her they were all the things he couldn't fit in the two suitcases he owned: his bed, desk, dresser, and extensive collection of knick-knacks he had managed to collect throughout the years. It was like being in the room of someone who had recently died. She felt as though she was intruding on something, but she couldn't help but walk further in. There were a few distinct things she noticed were definitely missing: a picture of them that was once on his desk, his two favorite pens (the rest were shoved into broken coffee mugs), and the moleskin he took with him everywhere, as though it were his favorite religious text. She let her fingers trace over the beautifully grained wood of the massive roll-top desk, which was one of his prized possessions that he had found on Craigslist. He had discovered it in a stroke of luck, and had also managed to bribe her into helping him lug it up the three flights of stairs to their apartment.

 _There is no way he has left for good if he left the desk here,_ she rationalized. _It must be temporary. Just a visit back to his home, see his brother, his old friends… He wouldn't leave for good... Maybe he's at David's._

David. He would be at David's house. She turned on her heel and went to find her phone in the purse she had discarded on the barstool.

Somewhere in her mind, she knew that the other night was a breaking point for him, she just couldn't put her finger on why. There were a few clues, and all she wanted was to be able to remember everything that had happened in the past months that led to that moment, every conversation they had, every look he had given her, every kind gesture he went out of his way to perform. But the human memory is frail and unreliable. She only could conjure up a few examples, most of her memory was set on replaying the other night over and over in her head, rationalizing and considering every word he said and did not say. She was missing something, and it wasn't just his presence. There was a missing piece to why he had gone, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it yet.

She found David's number in her phone and pressed send. It rang three times before he answered.

"Hello?"

"David?"

"Emma?"

"Yes, I don't know where Killian is."

"You've…you've lost him?"

She took a deep breath. It was supposed to be a joke, a long time joke, that went back to when he would get into his writing mode and hide away at the 24 hour coffee shop a few blocks from the apartment. He would go into a place that he described to her once as being a sphere where neither time nor space existed. Just the screen and the keys and the words that flow from an unknown part of the brain. He would go into this headspace and David would call if he didn't show up to work and ask the same question: "You've lost him again, haven't you?" Lost, in this case, meaning he's delved deep into the inner workings of his own mind and needs to be pulled out and reminded to eat.

It wasn't a time for joking, though. He wasn't in the coffee shop, she had already checked for him there two days ago.

A choked sob came out as she started to realize the severity of the situation. David didn't know where he was.

"Hey, hey, none of that," David said urgently on the other line. "He's really not… there?"

"Almost all of his stuff is gone, David. We had a fight and he said he was leaving at the end of the week but I didn't think he was serious and—"

"Whoa, slow down," David seemed flustered now, too, "Tell me what happened."

She spent the next five minutes recounting what all had gone on, and at the end of it, she found herself once again in his bedroom, looking around at all that was missing. The tears started to peacefully roll down her cheeks. David's words did very little to reassure her. He said he would call Killian and see what he could find out. Her question was answered: he wasn't at David's. The call ended without much resolution.

Right now, all she wanted and needed was Killian. It's funny how that works, that, at some point in time, the one who would know exactly what to say and do, is the one who left you in such a state of disarray. She sat down on his neatly made bed, put her head in her hands, and let herself cry over the loneliness, the fear, and the regret that infected every inch of her heart.

The room still smelled of him.


	5. Chapter 5

**I decided it was time for a happy story :)**

* * *

After hanging up the phone and allowing herself to cry for a while, Emma stood up and made her way over to the closet. Once again, there was a moment of hesitation where she was afraid he would walk in at any minute and ask her what she was doing. Although, afraid might not be the best word.

She opened the doors and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. His suitcases were gone, yes. But a few surprising objects remained in the closet. Confusion swept over her when she saw his guitar in the corner of the closet. It wasn't like him to leave behind something that held so much meaning and importance to him. She smiled, though, remembering all of the times the notes he plucked on the guitar managed to soothe her soul...

It had been a Tuesday night and Neal had just left her. Again. This time it was for a more extended amount of time, due to the law finally catching up with him and throwing him in jail. Emma hadn't known about the drug ring he had been a part of, which was probably the worst part. The shock of learning about a whole other side of a man she thought she knew so well left her in a daze she couldn't quite shake.

Killian came home after work and found her laying on the couch, staring at the television which was playing reruns of Antique Roadshow. Her face was flushed and her eyes were swollen from crying.

"Oh no," Killian breathed as he sat his leather bag on the kitchen floor.

She didn't react to his presence, eyes still zoned in on the elephant made of china that the appraiser was inspecting and describing.

"Love," he squatted down on the couch in front of her, blocking her view of the television. She kept staring at the same spot he intercepted, right above his shoulder. He knew from the look on her face that she was not entirely present, lost somewhere in the depths of her thoughts and loneliness. There was only one cure he knew to the state she was in, and it was sitting in his closet.

He stood, turned off the television, which didn't seem to bother her, and retrieved his guitar. He sat on the floor, with his back against the couch she was on, and quickly tuned the dusty guitar. He used to play in the coffee shop a few times a month, but he had been accepting the gig less and less as he started to sink into an unescapable sadness himself. But tonight was not the night for him to bask in his own unhappiness. This was about her.

He strummed the opening chords, and he could feel her stir slightly behind him.

 _"So you think that it's over,  
That your love has finally reached the end.  
Any time you call, night or day,  
I'll be right there for you if you need a friend."_

She sniffled and he knew she was starting to come out of her negative headspace.

 _"It's gonna take a little time.  
Time is sure to mend your broken heart.  
Don't you even worry, pretty darlin'.  
I know you'll find love again  
Yeah,"_ he heard a strangled sob rip through her chest. She was always amazed at his uncanny ability to know exactly what was wrong and how to fix her heart.

 _"Love is all around you  
Love is knockin' outside your door.  
Waitin' for you is this love made just for two  
Keep an open heart and you'll find love again, I know  
Love will find a way.  
Darlin', love is gonna find a way,  
Find its way back to you.  
Love will find a way."_

She sat up on the couch when he started to play a guitar solo, as her hand found her way into his hair, and started to run her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck almost as second nature. He leaned into her hand and finished out the song. On the final round of the chorus, she joined in singing quietly with a few hiccups in between words.

 _"So look around, open your eyes._  
 _Love is gonna find a way._  
 _Love is gonna, love is gonna find a way._  
 _Love will find a way._  
 _Love's gonna find a way back to you, yeah,_  
 _I know, I know, I know, I know…"_

The last chords faded away as he quietly started to strum absentmindedly chords, waiting for her to make the first move.

"Thank you," she whispered, her hands stilling.

"It's nothing," he replied, voice raspy.

"No, it's something," he could hear a slight smile in her voice that mirrored the small one on his own face.

Three days later, she was still on the couch under piles of blankets and a plate of cookies on the coffee table that Killian had left her with the night before.

That Friday night, he came home with a six pack of beer and two gallons of ice cream.

"Swan, I have decided that you are no longer allowed to be sad," he announced in a booming voice, dropping the bag of groceries on the counter. She turned around on the couch to look at him, a mix of shock, confusion, and exasperation on her face.

"What?" she asked in a flat tone.

"You're done being sad. It's not good for you, love," he explained, unloading the groceries into the fridge, "You see, when you are sad and stop your life because of someone, you give them power over you. And I think if you think about it, you'll realize the last thing you want to give that sad excuse of a man is power."

He grabbed two spoons from the drawer and pointed them at her, "So you need to stop crying. Get happy."

"Killian, you don't understand, it's not that simple, Neal, he—"

"Nah, I understand just fine," he said with a sly smile. "See, all you need is love, beer, and ice cream." He laughed as he held up the tub of ice cream and case of beer.

"He lied, he—"

"Emma," he interrupted her again, and looked at her pointedly, "Shut up. And smile."

He sat on the couch next to her and put the tub of ice cream in between them with a grin stretching across his face. "The only way to get better is to keep moving forward."

She pondered his words for a moment, chewing on her lip while she thought. "Okay."

"Okay?" he answered, offering her the other spoon.

"Okay," she smiled and accepted the spoon.

They spent the next three hours arguing about the merits of Val Kilmer's acting in Batman and, of course, smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for all of the kind reviews, follows, etc. I appreciate and love all of it. Happy Halloween!**

* * *

"Killian?"

Robin entered the room, his phone in hand, and Killian's stomach churned. He knew this conversation was going to come, he just didn't know when. Granted, not telling his gracious host why he showed up on his porch a few days earlier might not have been the best plan. Robin still accepted him with open arms and a comfortable guest bedroom.

"Uh, yeah? What's up?" Killian wouldn't make eye contact, knowing that someone from Dallas had called Robin and asked if he had heard from him.

"So… why exactly is David calling me and asking me where you are?" His tone hinted at an attempt at being impartial and nonjudgmental.

"Uh… about that…" Killian's ears turned red and his hand reached to rub the back of his neck.

"You didn't."

"I didn't what?"

"You didn't just leave again, did you?"

"Well, technically I did leave because I am, indeed, here," Killian said in an attempt to deflect the accusatory look on Robin's face.

"You know what I mean. You left without telling anyone where you were going." This time it was not a question.

Killian exhaled deeply and glared out the window overlooking the ocean. He was almost ready to have this conversation but not now.

"Why aren't you answering your phone?" Robin looked at him pleadingly.

Killian absentmindedly waved to the suitcases that sat in the corner, still packed, "Oh, it's in there… It seemed like such a bother and people would just ask me questions I didn't want to answer…" He gave Robin a pointed look with raised eyebrows.

"How long did you think you could hide out here before someone tried to find you?"

"Honestly, I thought it would be at least a week," Killian ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe more? I just… I wanted to have a plan set in place before I turned on the phone. That way I would at least have some answers when people asked."

His plan was almost finalized, actually. Work had been easier to find than he had initially thought. Robin really did have many connections in the music business, and there were two bands already wanting to schedule appointments with him to work on lyrics.

"What happened in Dallas?" Robin perched himself on the side of the futon in the bedroom, his gaze sad and tired.

"Long version or short?" Killian replied, putting his face in his hands.

"Whatever suits your fancy. I've all the time in the world," Robin settled down onto the futon.

Killian pondered Robin's answer for a few moments. To answer the question of "what happened," Killian would have to tell more than one story. It was not one moment, one instance. It was a culmination of the last five years of his life, all a mix of loss and hope and love and a final shot at redemption that fell short. Then it hit him: "No, I know," he reached for the guitar that rested against the couch.

It didn't feel the same way in his arms that his guitar used to, the neck not worn down to the shape of his hand. It felt foreign and awkward and a pain of regret ran through his soul for leaving his guitar behind. Emma would take care of it, though, if she even found it. Running away wasn't permanent. He just needed a break and change of scenery. He had something to prove to himself and to Emma. He estimated he would be back within a month, two months tops. He had rent set aside to send to the landlord. He wasn't prepared to face her yet.

His fingers started to dance on the strings and glide across the neck while he played the first few notes of a song he wrote just a few days before their fight.

 _Four letter word_  
 _But I don't have the guts to say it_  
 _Smile 'til it hurts_  
 _Let's not make it complicated_  
 _We've got a story_  
 _And I'm about to change the ending_  
 _You're perfect for me_  
 _And more than just a friend_  
 _So we can just stop pretending now_  
 _Gotta let you know somehow_

 _I'll be your shelter_  
 _I'll be your storm_  
 _I'll make you shiver_  
 _I'll keep you warm_  
 _Whatever weather_  
 _Baby I'm yours_  
 _Be your forever, be your fling_  
 _Baby I will be your everything_

 _We used to say_  
 _That we would always stick together_  
 _But who's to say_  
 _That we could never last forever_  
 _Girl, got a question_  
 _Could you see yourself with somebody else?_  
 _'Cause I'm on a mission_  
 _And I don't wanna share_  
 _I want you all to myself right now_  
 _I just wanna scream it out_

 _No matter what you do, yeah,_  
 _Oh, I'll be there for you_  
 _And every time you close your eyes_  
 _I will be by your side_  
 _'Cause every time you make me sing_  
 _Baby I will be your everything_

 _I'll be your shelter_  
 _I'll be your storm_  
 _But I'll make you shiver_  
 _I'll keep you warm_  
 _Whatever weather_  
 _Baby I'm yours_  
 _Be your forever, be your fling_  
 _Baby I will be your everything_

 _Baby I_  
 _Baby I will_  
 _Baby I will be your everything..._

There was a dense silence that fell over the room with the last notes of the guitar, emotion still pulsing through the air.

"And… she doesn't feel the same way?" Robin whispered.

Killian shook his head in response, unable to get any more words out.

"Well," Robin started, "You can probably guess what I am going to say."

"Talk to her," Killian groaned, leaning back in the chair.

"Talk to her," Robin smiled. "But when you're ready." He stood and went to leave the room, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. "You should know she's worried about you though, mate. She's the one that called David in tears. Don't wait too long to be ready."  
Killian looked up at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard. Can't tell you what it means, though. You'd have to ask her," he raised an eyebrow. "What do you want me to tell Dave?"

"Tell him I'm working out here for a little bit and not to worry," Killian said after a pause. "I'll call him later."

Robbing nodded and gave his friend a sad smile before leaving the room.

Killian sighed and tried to digest the information. She was crying. She was worrying. About him. She cared that he left, and that meant something, he wasn't sure what yet. He couldn't go back so soon after leaving. It had only been a few days, and he had commitments he had to fulfill.

He opened his computer and started a new email to the bands that had solicited his way with words.

* * *

David called back about an hour later with not much news.

"He's gone, but Robin says he doesn't think it's permanent," David tried to reassure her. "Killian has a job."

"A job?"

"Yeah," David said, "He didn't say what Killian was doing, though. Wouldn't give me much information at all. He said Killian would call me later, but…"

"You don't think he will?"

David sighed, "I don't think so, no. But, you know, it's not the first time this has happened. He's done this before." His sentence ended as a statement of fact, as if packing up everything and disappearing without a trace was a normal occurrence in the life of Killian Jones.

She had heard bits and pieces about his adventures in foreign lands, seen his pictures of beautiful beaches and mountains. She knew he had left a woman once he found out she had a husband, and it was a bad time for him, to say the least. He had gradually told her bits and pieces of everything, but the timeline in her head was jumbled, and the state of distress she was in did not help her trying to assemble a coherent story.

David took her silence as a sign that she didn't know that this was normal.

"Oh, well, uh," he stammered on the on the other line. "This is the longest he's actually stayed in one place. He used to move around all the time. I thought he would've told you. He wasn't one for setting roots. Free spirit might be the word we used to use."

David was being intentionally vague and Emma knew it.

"Are you going to tell me anything that's useful, David?" She snapped, frustrated with his inability to give her a straightforward answer about why he left or where he went.

"Probably not, Emma," David said. "He'll come around."

She was quiet for a minute.

"Promise?"

"Promise. You said he left his desk. We both know there's no way he would leave that for good," David said, trying to make her laugh, and she appreciated it.

"Will you tell me if you hear from him?" she asked timidly.

"Of course," David paused for a moment. "He did submit his article for publication to Sidney yesterday. It will be in the paper tomorrow." He left the part out about Killian putting in his two weeks, deciding that should be a conversation for later.

"Thank you, David," Emma said.

"You're welcome. Let us know if you need anything, please," he added as an earnest afterthought.

"Will do," she said.

After hanging up the phone, the sense of dread came over her again. She had found herself on sitting his bed at the end of the call, and she couldn't quite bring herself to get up. _Fuck it,_ she thought as she laid down in his blankets. _It's not like anyone is coming home, anyway._

She fell asleep with the smell of him around her and her tears on his pillow.

* * *

The last time she was in his bed was Halloween a year ago.

She had been sitting on the couch all dolled up in her Princess Leia outfit. Neal was supposed to go as Bobba Fett. Just like he was supposed to be at the apartment two hours ago.

His phone was going straight to voicemail and she had given up any notion of actually going out. The disappointment and loneliness was already bottled up and neatly kept within herself.

Killian came home around ten, after a long night working at the coffee shop. He dressed up as a pirate, and his costume in no way disappointed. He told Emma three weeks before Halloween about how he had spent years collecting all of the parts and pieces, spending his well-earned money investing in a costume he was able to wear once, maybe twice, a year. She didn't get it until she saw how convincing he looked in the leather jacket, vest, laced up boots, and the jewelry to match.

"Swan, I need to borrow your eyeliner. I can't seem to find mine," he barged into her bathroom earlier that morning, looking handsomely disheveled.

"Eyeliner? Really?" she raised an eyebrow before digging through her drawer of makeup. "Just know that I slightly judge you for this."

"That is quite alright, love," he said, raising an eyebrow back. "It brings out my eyes. I think you'll find eyeliner makes me look quite dashing." He winked and left the room.

He wasn't wrong.

After working all day, his eyeliner had smudged and his hair looked less purposefully messy.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked when he saw her on the couch. "Where's what's-his-face?"

"Neal," she said flatly. "Neal is his name."

"Oh, right," he said. "Well?"

She didn't answer this time and in many ways she didn't have to. Neal had been around long enough for Killian to know that he wasn't coming.

Killian dug around in his bag and pulled out a jumbo bag of candy, opened it up, and withdrew a piece of chocolate. He looked at it in his hand and considered his next move. _What could go wrong,_ he thought with a shrug. He threw it at Emma's head and it hit her right on the side of the temple.

"What…" she looked at him with disbelief.

"Wasn't me," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes and went back to watching the poorly made 80s horror movie that was on the television.

He took another handful of assorted candies and threw them at her again, this time they hit the entire side of her body and landed in her lap.

"Killian!" she exclaimed, turning to look at him with death in her eyes. Her facade of anger fell short though when she saw the smirk on his face, and she broke a slight smile in return. "You're dead."

She picked up the bag of candy corn off the table and began to return his fire of packaged chocolates with waxed candy corn. She jumped off the couch to seek asylum behind the coffee table, and he ducked back behind the kitchen island.

"Those are much harder than what I am throwing, Swan! Not fair!"

"All is fair in love and war, pirate!"

They spent the next ten minutes laughing and throwing and ducking and yelling profanities at one another when a particularly hard piece of candy hit them in the head.

"Okay, okay, truce," Killian walked out from the kitchen, hands in the air. "I'm out of ammunition, I'm afraid."

She started giggling at the look on his face. Slow and short giggles at first that turned into bubbling, contagious laughter until she was bent over clutching her sides and tears were streaming from her eyes. Killian started laughing at how hard she was laughing, until they're both in fits on the floor.

Emma's laughs transformed into uncontrollable sobs. The kind that come when you feel an indescribable sadness wash over you and the bottle of loneliness and disappointment is let loose in a moment of weakness.

Killian was next to her in an instant, gathering her in his arms and hugging her close. "Hey now, hey, Emma," he said quietly. "None of that. Shhh…" he started humming quietly an indistinct tune. "Princesses don't cry over unreasonable men."

She hiccuped one sad giggle out. "It's stupid, I know."

"I never said stupid, love," he rubbed her arm soothingly. "Being sad over someone who doesn't care, though, is just a waste of time. Why cry when we could be getting sick on candy and watching ridiculous horror movies."

She nodded against his shoulder, and he lifted her up onto the couch. "What movie should we start with?"

"Nightmare Before Christmas?" she smiled a small smile.

"Of course, my princess," Killian bowed deeply and went to the television, changing out the DVD.

They stayed up late into the early hours of the morning, watching increasingly realistic and scary horror movies, to the point where they were huddled together on the couch, a pillow clutched to Emma's chest, and her hand tightly gripping Killian's as the main character started screaming in the middle of the night. The movie ended with the possessed girl starting demonically into the camera and lunging towards it, and the screen cutting to black. Emma looked at Killian with wide eyes.

"Well, it is two in the morning and I think that this," he said, motioning towards the rolling credits. "Is probably the best place to stop."

He untangled their hands and pulled the blankets off of them. Emma stayed still.

"Emma? Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," she stammered. "Just… sort of freaked out. That last one really got to me."

"Want me to check under your bed for monsters?" he grinned, holding out a hand towards her.

She took it and stood up. "Um, no, I think I'll be fine," she held onto his hand for a moment too long and blushed slightly. "Thanks for tonight, Killian. It's what I needed."

"Anytime, love," he said, his ears turning red. "Goodnight?"

"Sleep tight," she responded. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Or, you know, the demons that possess the walls of the apartment."

She laughed nervously and turned around, giving him one last look over her shoulder before closing her bedroom door softly. Killian let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and headed towards his own room.

After switching into his pajamas and burrowing down into the blankets, he heard a soft knock at his door.

"Killian?" Emma whispered, poking her head through the door. "Are you asleep?"

"Almost," he sat up on one arm and saw her standing in his doorway in all of her beautiful, sleepy, glory. Her hair was in a tangled braid and her matching pajama set was enough to put a smile on his face that would scare away all of her demons. "What brings you to my humble abode at this hour?"

"We live in the same apartment," she said dryly. She paused briefly, looking down at her feet. "I can't sleep."

"Want me to make you tea?" he shifted so he was sitting upright in bed.

"No," she said, still not making eye contact. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

He looked at her, completely perplexed. Confusion had to be written all over his face because when she finally made eye contact, her gaze became sad. "I'm sorry, I'm being stupid, it was just a movie…" She turned and went to go.

"No," he shouted. "I mean, no," he corrected himself, blushing intensely. "I mean, of course you can, Emma. You aren't being stupid. I'll go sleep on the couch. My bed will keep you mighty safe, and I'll keep a watch out for the ghosts outside the door."

He moved to get out of bed, but she started shaking her head. "I want you to stay in the room, too."

It took a moment for what she was saying to completely sink in, and when it did he felt a brief moment of happiness, followed by disappointment. "I don't think that's the best idea. With Neal and all, I don't want to…"

"Gross, Killian, no" she walked towards the bed. "Not that kind of sleeping with you. I just… I need to not be alone tonight. And, anyway, if Neal wanted to sleep with me he should have shown up. His own fault, really." She smiled timidly, and he returned the smile.

"Well then," he scooted back towards the wall and patted the mattress. "What's mine is yours. There's more than enough room for the two of us."

She climbed into his bed and sunk deep into the mattress, which was much larger and much more comfortable than her own.

"Why haven't I slept in your bed before," she groaned, getting comfortable under the down blankets. "It's way better than mine."

"You're welcome anytime, Swan," he said, laying back into the pillows. "Anytime."

The last word came out mumbled as sleep started to pull him under. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the smell of her hair and the weight of her next to him when she sighed contently.


	7. Chapter 7

Things began to move faster than Killian had initially anticipated. The song writing process was different every time. Sometimes the band would want to collaborate, sometimes the band and their manager would tell him what "type" of song they wanted, sometimes he blindly wrote words he was told would eventually end up in a song, and sometimes they sent him tracks of music for him to put words to. The creative process was addicting and tricky, wonderful and invigorating. He had no idea that this was exactly what he needed.

The surprise he felt when he looked at the calendar and realized it had almost been a month since he left was nothing short of destabilizing. He hadn't even called David, which he said he would do about… three weeks ago. He decided he would call on his way to the studio for the day.

The phone rang once.

"Hello?" David answered.

"Hey, Dave!" Killian replied, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm so sorry I didn't call you sooner, mate. I just now looked at the calendar and realized how much time had passed since you last called."

"Killian?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he mumbled. "I, uh, am on a different phone right now. Not quite sure where I left mine." That was a lie. It was still in his suitcase. He didn't want to face the reality that waited for him in Dallas, so he lived in a detached world.

"Yeah, I sort of figured something like that. I've tried calling," David sounded almost angry but mostly relieved. "Where are you?"

"On the road currently, on my way to a job," Killian said, changing lanes quickly to make the exit. "Where're you?"

"Don't play that game!" David answered, his voice now stern. "I need at least some answers. I have, uh, people asking about you."

"People?"

"Uh, yeah, more like a person."

There was a pause.

"Is she okay?" Killian asked, pulling up to the curb outside of the studio.

"Killian, you left her," David said quietly. "You didn't even leave a note or tell her you were going. What were you thinking?"

The answer he wanted to give was to say he really wasn't thinking. But he wasn't ready to admit his fault and childish actions just yet.

"David, I left no person. I only left a place. She was not mine to leave," Killian rested his head against the steering wheel. "I'm sending my rent check tomorrow. I'm at work, now, I really need to go."

"What work are you even doing?"

"Oh, some of this some of that. No time to explain," Killian unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his bag from the passenger seat. "Sorry it took so long to call you. I'll talk to you again."

"Killian, wait—"

Killian did not wait. He terminated the call and then shut the phone off, tempted to break it in half. The less David knew the better. The songs he had been writing lately were not particularly… kind. He didn't want people figuring out that they had a song written about them by their ex-lover and performed by a semi-famous early 2000s punk rock band.

He also wasn't ready to face Emma.

As he approached the tall, stone building with a rotating front door, he wondered if he would ever be ready.

Pushing that thought aside, he smiled to himself. He had accomplished something. He was becoming someone important. People knew his name, or, at least, his pen name: Captain.

* * *

"Captain? Seriously?"

Emma came into his room where he was working on editing the latest edition of their university's newspaper. She held up a manila envelope in her hand with the words "Captain Jones" sprawled across the front in elaborate typography.

"Where did that come from?" he looked at her with bloodshot eyes from a lack of sleep and too much time looking at a computer screen.

"Someone dropped it off a few minutes ago. I tried to tell them that there was no one named Captain who lived here," she grinned at him. "Then he finally remembered your first name was actually Killian, and I let him go."

"Well, give it here," he held out his hand. "Must be Smee's editorial. He can't seem to ever get me anything before three hours after the deadline."

"First, you have to tell me why the hell he's calling you Captain," she held the envelope just outside of his reach.

"Oh, Swan, it's this silly thing they started saying a few years back," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I can't explain things that don't have sense. Something about that "O' Captain my Captain" poem, maybe," he shrugged.

"Isn't that a little morbid?"

"Probably," he turned back to the computer and began typing. "I haven't actually heard the poem."

"Walt Whitman," she moved into his room and sat down on his bed, sinking into the blankets. "You are an English major, and you have never read Walt Whitman."

"Bits and pieces, yeah, I guess. But I have not yet been in an Antebellum literature class, love," he kept typing and clicking away in an attempt to get her to stop bothering him.

"O Captain! my Captain!" she jumped off the bed and started stalking towards him. "Our fearful trip is done, the ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won," she was reciting the poem in perfect rhythm and voice. "The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring."

Killian sighed and put his head in his hands, "Emma, I really don't have time for this I have a deadline and—"

"But O heart! heart! heart!" Emma continued, complete with hand gestures to emphasize the words, paying his objections no mind. "O the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead."

"Wait, the captain dies in the poem?!" Killian perks up at the mention of death.

"O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; rise up— for you the flag is flung—" she wandered to the window and started delivering the lines to the patrons walking on the sidewalk below. Killian closed his laptop and pushed back his chair from his desk so he could watch her perform out the window. "For you the bugle trills, for you the bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths— for you the shores a-crowding, for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning."

"Swan, this is just ridiculous," Killian scoffed, whirling his desk chair in a few circles, and started to push his way back to behind the desk. "There is no way my staff thinks of me as a dead captain. There must be another poem or—"

"Here Captain! dear father!" she began again, this time she moved towards his desk, blocking his path. She shoved the papers to the side and sat down right on top of his pile of work, crossing her ankles. "This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the desk, you've fallen cold and dead."

"No!" Killian cried, standing to move towards her. Killian was close enough to her that she could feel his breath, and it sent a chill through her. "I refuse to believe—"

"My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still," she placed a finger to his lips and raised her eyebrows. "My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will." She cocked her head and put her fingers to the pulse on his neck, and felt a heart beating faster than normal. She found her own heart was also beating quite fast for just reciting a poem. "The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage is closed and done, from fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won."

At that, she jumped from the desk, Killian moved to the side quickly to accommodate her movement, his ears burning red. "Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, walk the deck my Captain lies," she walks to the door, and turns on her heel to face him. "Fallen cold and dead." She takes a mock bow, her cheeks flushed a light pink.

Killian clapped lightly, the tired look returning to his eyes. "I am quite impressed with your performance. The staff though? Not so much," he smiled slightly. "Where did you learn that?"

She shrugged, "I had to memorize a poem for a class once in high school, and this was the one I chose. Never thought it would come in handy again."

There was a brief pause in which the tension in the room was filled with an electricity she couldn't understand, but felt had something to do with the way he was looking at her. She felt the heat returning to her cheeks as he stared intently at her with wonder and a slight awe.

"Well, um, here's your envelope," she found it on the floor and handed it to him. "Sorry for the production, I just—"

"Don't apologize," he smiled, almost shyly. "I think I needed the distraction more than I knew."  
She nodded and shifted her weight on her feet. "I'll be going then," she gestured towards the door. "Let me know if you need any more distracting."

His eyebrows shot up and he got a smirk she knew she deserved. "Oh, yeah?" he said in the voice she recognized from all the times they had been in bars and he had made moves on the attractive women that would giggle and look his direction from a few feet away. Her stomach clenched and her throat tightened as she remembered how soft his lips were against her finger a few moments earlier, and she briefly wondered what they would feel like against her own.

"Get your head out of the gutter," she muttered, throwing the nearest pen she found at his head, which he dodged skillfully.

"Whatever you say, Swan," he laughed as she left his room, shaking her head along the way. "Whatever you say."


	8. Chapter 8

Killian had recently run into a mass amount of success in the song-writing industry. Word traveled fast in a community that was much smaller than he had initially anticipated. He became so overwhelmed with trying to schedule and plan out his time he had to hire a sort of assistant manager to help him sell his songs, keep track of paperwork and copyright procedures and laws, and generally keep his head on straight. Isaac was his name, and even though Killian had his doubts about his integrity, the man seemed well-versed enough to know how to work things. And he didn't ask for as much of the cut as other, bigger agents would have. His first purchase had been a small boat that he kept off the docks on the beach. It was his place of residence for the time being. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to have a permanent addressed tied to his name, so he lived on the boat and put down the apartment address whenever forms asked him for a mailing address.

After his first royalties check, he realized he had the ability to turn this into more than just a small adventure to prove to himself his talent: it was a direct line to a career that could enable to him to live a very long, comfortable life wherever his heart desired.

His heart desired to be with Emma, though. He found himself consistently wondering whether or not all of this was worth it. If being away from the person who gave him inspiration to write the words that made him money was worth it. His body had been restless for weeks. The initial lack of guilt he had when he first sat in the airport after leaving had subsided and he quickly became overridden with guilt and sadness. Every night for the first few weeks he was away he would have nightmares of Emma dying, of him returning back to her and her not remembering him, of her not being in the apartment when he came back.

Of her with another man, happy without him.

After going through that constant pain and anxiety, he found it was best if he did not sleep at all. He considered cocaine as an alternative to sleep, or potentially heroin to help him be in a euphoric state of drowsiness that he had heard would wash away his dreams. In the end, he settled on Adderall for the nights he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without nightmares and rum for the nights he knew he must sleep. The Adderall kept him awake. The rum numbed the pain from the nightmares.

Eventually, he became numb to most things. Meetings became the bane of his existence. Words stopped trailing through his head. He didn't remember the last time he had smiled and meant it.

The postcard that sat on his desk haunted him as well. He had seen it when he first flew into Los Angels and immediately thought of Emma. Postcards had been their way of apologizing, ever since the first time she dropped off the face of the earth after a particularly nasty fight with Neal. She had returned after a week and a half of silence at their front door with red eyes and a postcard from the city she had run off to. She didn't need to say anything, because Killian already knew from the look in her eyes and the timid smile on her face that it was all she could do at the time. He knew that eventually she would tell him the story, and she did, but in that moment she needed him, some ice cream, and old black and white movies.

He knew when he picked up the postcard in the airport that it would take more than a silly token of apology to earn her trust and love back. He wasn't sure where else to start.

He wasn't sure if she would even want him back.

He decided after two months of being away that roaming and traveling could be a great way to get his life and his mind back where they needed to be. To see the world would be the greatest of all inspirations for song writing and ideas on how to gather courage to return to Dallas. Quickly, he opened his laptop and booked a flight to London, figuring that he could then travel from there to Ireland to visit his family for a few days.

Less than twenty four hours later, he found himself in LAX, staring at a revolving rack of postcards, trying to decide on the perfect postcard for Emma. One that would have enough room to explain his consistent need for movement and his inability to return to her just yet. He finally settled on a painted version of the skyline of the city. The woman behind the counter smiled sweetly at him while he gave her the change from the bottom of his bag.

"Thanks," he nodded and went to leave.

"You're welcome," she returned with knowing eyes. "I bet she'll love it."

"How…" he stared openly.

"Honey, no one stares at postcards that long if its for someone who doesn't matter. You picked a good one."

"Thank you," he said, torn between the embarrassed feeling that turned his ears red and the small amount of happiness he felt grip his heart. It was an unfamiliar and fleeting feeling, that lasted only long enough to remind him he still had it in him to be happy.

He walked slowly to his terminal, considering his options. He walked past a gate that was boarding for Dallas and stopped.

Indecision swept over him again, as he stared with longing at the passengers who were getting their tickets scanned. He could easily switch his flight. He would lose money, but he was at a point where money was not as big of an issue. He had money to lose.

He hesitated for a moment too long. His inner monologue began to run and reminded him that there was no way Emma would accept him now. He was too far gone, and was gone for too long. He would waste time and money on nothing, only to be disappointed and sink back down into the darkness he had dug himself into the past few months. Too late.

 _Too late._

"Too late," he muttered to himself, and began walking to his gate, faster this time.

When he arrived at his gate, he sat down at one of the painfully uncomfortable seats and pulled out his phone. It was the same number he had called David on a few weeks earlier. David had tried calling a few more times, leaving short, non descriptive messages reminding Killian to be safe and to call him when he had the chance. There was a text from David that read: _You're running._

Killian quickly responded. _I am not running. I am taking a break and temporarily relocating. I'll be home for Christmas._ He pressed send, slightly surprised at his declaration of a concrete timeline. And yet, at the same time, he had always known it was temporary. Where else would he be for Christmas? He might even go back for Thanksgiving.

After the text had sent, Killian quickly weighed his options. He could call Dave and tell him he was leaving on a journey, or he could call Emma and tell her himself. He knew the message would travel through David to Emma either way. A thousand different thoughts ran through his mind as he fiddled with the phone in his hands. The voice overhead called his section to begin boarding and anxiety gripped his chest. Without much attentiveness, Killian made his way to the check in stand, through the gates, down the corridor, into the plane, and into his seat.

The phone still gripped tightly in his hand, her number was dialed and ready to call. He stared at the screen for what felt like hours, before he pressed the green call button.

It rang.

The stewardess walked down the isle, checking seat belts and safety.

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to turn off your phone," she said politely.

The phone was still ringing.

"Sir," she repeated, more firmly this time. "Your phone needs to be off. We're about to take off."

The voicemail recording began and his heart stopped beating, "You've reached Emma Swan, sorry I missed your call. Leave your name and number and I'll probably call you back. Thanks!" The line beeped.

"Sir, turn off the phone," the stewardess had lost all facade of being patient with him. "You cannot have it on right now."

"I'm sorry, I just," he took the phone from his ear and put it up to his chest. "I really need—"

"You should have thought of that before you boarded this flight," the stewardess reached for the phone.

"No! She—"

The stewardess turned off the phone, effectively ending the call, and handed it back to him.

"Keep. It. Off."

She turned and continued down the isle.

Killian let out a breath in anger and frustration with himself and with the shortcomings of airplanes _. You would think that they had this technology fixed by now. I should be able to make a damn phone call._

He had gotten her voicemail. It was her sweet voice, the same voicemail he had heard for years when he tried to call. She hardly ever answers her phone. His number was an unknown one to her phone. Of course she didn't answer.

She wouldn't have answered even if she had known it was you, the voice in his head mocked. You blew it. Again.

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to get off of the plane. He put his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and tried to come up with a plan to live with himself on a plane for the next eleven hours.

A few hours into the flight, he took out the postcard and his favorite pen and contemplated what he should write.

 _Emma,_ he began.

 _I miss you more than the words I know could express. Maybe I will begin a search for the word, or maybe I will make my own word for it. Either way, I don't know how to express it to you. I am sorry. I know what I did must hurt, and I hope you can forgive me one day. I understand if you don't. I don't know if I'll be able to forgive myself. You will be fine, though. I know you will be. You're on your own path to greatness. I'm running out of room. I miss you. I will see you soon. K_

After her three hour senior seminar class, Emma wandered outside of the large brick building with no real sense of urgency. She had no where to be, really, other than in the library working on her senior thesis. History, as it turns out, is more complicated than dates, numbers, and facts. She had gone into college with the intention of becoming a lawyer or something of the sort. But after her gen ed history course, she knew she had to know more. What drove her was a thirst for knowledge and a series of questions that she felt needed to be answered. She intended to find those answers.

Once outside, she turned on her phone and saw a missed call and a voicemail from an unknown number. The call log told her the phone number was registered in California, and her heart skipped a beat. Killian was in California. _Why would he have a different phone number, though?_ she mused as she started to play the voicemail. At first the message sounded more like a butt dial than anything else. She could hear a woman in the background insisting that the person holding the phone turn it off.

"Sir, turn off the phone," the voice demanded. "You cannot have it on right now."

"I'm sorry, I just," Emma froze mid step at the sound of the other person's voice. "I really need—"

"You should have thought of that before you boarded this flight," the other voice replied.

"Killian," she breathed, knowing the sound of his distressed voice probably better than most other people he knew. He had a tendency to put on a stone poker face and speak with clarity and calmness in times of great panic. However, when other people weren't around, she was able to see quite clearly the mess he was on the inside. A lost boy, scared of the real world and lost within the world of books and writing.

"No! She—" were the last muffled words Emma heard before the line disconnected.

People were bustling around her, backpacks running into her side and dirty looks shot her direction. None of it registered in her mind, though.

He had tried to call her.

He was on a plane of sorts.

He was alive.

Once she regained her composure, she quickly pressed the phone number and tried to call back. The call went straight to voicemail, and her heart sunk. The recording was the prerecorded message telling her to leave a message after the tone.

She hung up before the tone.

What had she done.

 **Turns out, I know very little about the music industry. This is now an AU that is not based in any reality of what it is like to work in such an industry ¯\\_(ツ** **)_/¯ artistic license, let's call it. Also, school is picking up and publishing might get a little slower. But I'll do my best :)**


	9. Chapter 9

The museums were beautiful and endless, but there was still something missing while he roamed through the paintings and displays. It was Emma. He picked up the next postcard for her at the National Maritime Museum along with prints of old ship plans and designs.

 _Emma,_

 _I wish you were here to see this museum! We'll have to come back some day. It's not the same being at museums without you telling me all of the facts and stories behind the artifacts we see. Reading the placards is not nearly as fun or as educational. I'm thinking of the time we went out of the city, at least fifty miles, after a rough week of classes, and found a place where we could see the stars. I still stay we probably crossed the state line. There was a glorious planetarium in the museum that may have beaten our journey out by a long shot. I could have stayed in there forever. I miss you. Wait for me, I'll be home soon. -k_

* * *

After Killian made his declaration to Emma to no longer allow her to be sad over Neal, he knew it was time to go into full on friend mode. To be a rebound was not what he desired. He was not here for short term. It was a marathon, not a sprint, and if he let himself kiss her while she laughed at an old Batman movie, he would never forgive himself.

Emma was not so much on the same page. The late night movie marathons made something inside her warm up, and she found that her heart would occasionally clench in longing for the man who sat next to her on the couch. She tried to brush it off as leftover feelings from Neal. She was sad and vulnerable, it was a natural reaction to breakup.

And yet.

Had he always been so handsome? Why was she just now noticing the sharpness of his jaw line, or the depth of his eyes? Was his hair always so soft? His touch always so gentle when he woke her up on the couch to move her to her bed? Sometimes he would carry her to bed when she refused to get up, and his arms were stable and strong. She felt safe.

It was on a whim that a month after Neal left she bought them tickets to the UT Dallas baseball game, something Killian used to love going to, even if their team lost every time. She rationalized with herself that it was only a tentative date. She wouldn't label it that, but it would be a sort of trial run for her to see what spending time with just one another would be like outside of their apartment and favorite coffee shop. She was hopeful, to say the least.

Emma arrived home that Friday evening, tickets clutched in an envelope, and excitement and nervousness pulsing through to her fingertips.

"Killian!" she called, dropping her backpack in the kitchen. She noticed something was off upon further entering the apartment. There were shoes by the couch that did not belong to her, and looked much too small to belong to Killian. And too feminine. "Killian?"

Her head snapped towards Killian's bedroom door when she heard a woman's bubbling giggle coming from his room. A weight fell into her stomach, as her eyes grew wide and her excitement turned into instant regret.

The envelope with tickets dropped to the floor, landing next to her feet.

She heard something that sounded like someone falling, and the giggling lasted for a few more seconds. She quickly glanced around the apartment, and decided to make a quick exit for her room. She had her hand on the handle of the door when she heard his door open.

"Swan! I, uh, didn't expect you home so soon," Killian was out of breath and his face was flushed a bright red. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?" he said as she turned around to look at him.

There was tense silence between the two of them, as Emma took in his mostly bare figure. He had nothing but boxer briefs on, and his hair was wild. She saw the faint outline of muscle definition that traced his arms, pecs, and stomach. Their eyes met and she could hear the blood rushing through her ears, the heat rising up her neck and into her ears, and her heart began to beat faster. The jealousy she felt of the woman who was currently in his bed was more than she thought she was possible. She wouldn't be surprised if she looked in the mirror and saw her skin turning green.

Shaking her head violently, Emma turned away from the door. "I'll give you some space," she said a lot less confidently than she had planned. She made a direct line towards the front door, picking up her backpack by one strap on her way by.

She almost didn't turn around to look at him before she left. Habit kicked in, though, along with the desire to see him again. A longing coursed through her body, and all she wanted was to have him ask her to stay. His eyes were wide, though, and it seemed as if he were at a loss for words. She let herself briefly wonder if he had felt the same electricity she had. There was no time to ponder it too long, though. He hadn't asked her to stay. He hadn't said anything. She opened the front door and was out of it before she could do anything she might regret. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she knew she had to put distance in between them, especially if she intended for their friendship to survive any longer. She bounded down the three flights of stairs and into the damp, humid air.

 _You're running,_ her inner conscious said in a sing-song voice that sounded an awful lot like Killian's. Sweat started to gather at her hairline as she found her car in the parking lot, threw her backpack in, and quickly started the car.

"Am not," she muttered to herself as she threw the car in reverse and headed towards the I-30 East exit. "I just need space."

The darkness that came with the late winter settled over the long and winding interstate as she drove until her car was almost out of gas. Not quite feeling like the two hundred miles she had already put between herself and Killian was enough, she filled up her tank at a 24/hour gas station somewhere in Arkansas and kept going.

She had no destination in mind, only a feeling: the need to drive until her body no longer shook and her head was no longer swarming with the image of Killian with someone who wasn't her.

Nashville wasn't too far off.

The city of music. Dreams. Civil War history.

It wouldn't be the worst place to spend a week off, she decided, as the town drew ever nearer. Definitely not the worst place.

* * *

Killian heard his name being called from outside his door, and that was the beginning and end of everything.

His mind immediately went to the worst possible scenario, which was that Emma was hurt and needed him. The second he had heard his name the other affairs that he had going on in the moment were pushed aside. Quite literally, he pushed aside the half naked woman that was on top of him. Not the best form, he realized a second later, and he smiled apologetically at her. "Sorry love, hold on for just a moment," he slipped from underneath her and she giggled as he tripped and fell out of bed. Emma wasn't supposed to be home yet, which was the initial reason he thought bringing home a woman he knew from the coffee shop would be alright. As of late, he had been feeling numb to most things. It was probably due to a combination of Emma being around more than usual, and the slow realization that he hadn't done much with his life since graduating college. He needed to feel something, and sex with a perfectly kind woman was the only relatively safe option he could come up with that didn't require a large sum of money.

Opening the door quickly, he saw her standing at her bedroom door, frozen and tense. "Swan! I, uh, didn't expect you home so soon," Emma turned at this, and his face flushed red as she looked him up and down. He had forgotten to put on pants before he opened the door. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

Their eyes met across the room, and an undeniable electricity began to course through the room. The air became thicker somehow, and he struggled to get oxygen into his lungs. The look on her face was one he was not familiar with, which was unusual because he was generally pretty accurate when it came to reading her expressions. There was something different, and his heart picked up a beat when he thought for a moment that perhaps it resembled a look of longing. Jealousy? Lust? Maybe even love. Before he had a chance to definitely place it, though, she shook her head as if to clear her mind.

"I'll give you some space," she said in a strained whisper.

Before he could protest, she walked quickly to the kitchen, picked up her backpack, and went to leave.

It all happened too fast.

The words were on his tongue.

She glanced back at him, and it seemed like she was going to say something and then thought better of it.

Her eyes wide, she opened the door.

He almost asked her to stay.

Almost.

She was gone.

It took a moment for him to come to, and when he did, he rushed back into his room to pull on a pair of sweats. The woman on his bed had a look of utter confusion and disbelief.

"I guess that means this is over?" he heard her say when he went to leave the room.

"Sorry, Ariel," he looked at the redheaded beauty on his bed and almost regretted leaving her there. "Raincheck."

Really, he wasn't sure what he would do if he found Emma downstairs. He only hoped she would understand, or at least let him try to explain. She would understand if she listened, he knew she would. She always did.

When he finally made it down to the parking lot, all he saw was the tail of her car pulling out onto the street.

He had barely missed her.

It seemed to be a common theme in his life, he thought as he kicked a nearby garbage can in frustration.

Slowly, he made his way back inside.

 _She'll be home soon,_ he thought as he opened the apartment door to find Ariel gone and an envelope on the floor. W _e'll talk then. Just a misunderstanding. She'll be home soon._ He began to methodically make dinner for both of them, and he put her dinner in the fridge on a plate when she wasn't home by the time it was finished. Turning on an old black and white movie, he collapsed on the couch and tried to ignore the growing sense of dread that began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

The first day, he called her twice. Once to see if he could get a hold of her, the second time to hear her voice on the answering machine.

The second day, he anxiously paced around the library, checking in corners and study rooms she was known to hide out in.

The third day, he checked the coffee shop down the street as well.

The fourth day, he didn't leave the apartment.

* * *

Five days.

Five days since she left.

He had called her countless times, and each time the call went straight to voicemail, which he figured was due to the fact that her phone charger was still on her bedside table. But, even then, people can buy new phone chargers. It's not like they aren't sold at every gas station in the world.

He called her friends on the fifth day she was missing, and Anna had confirmed that they had heard from her within the past few days and, no, there was no need to report her as a missing person. At that point in the conversation, Anna handed off the phone to her sister, Elsa, who made her own attempt at talking Killian out of forming an all out search party.

"Killian, she is fine. Do you hear the words I am saying? She's alive," Elsa said patiently into the phone.

"But, where is she?" he replied, not fully comforted by the fact that she was supposedly alive.

"Taking a break. You know how hard these past few weeks have been," she said. "Emma is working on her thesis a bit in an undisclosed location."

There was silence from both ends of the phone.

"I don't want to be the one to tell this to you, Killian," she sighed. "But did you ever consider that maybe she doesn't want you to find her?"

The question felt like a slap across the face.

"I… I don't know…"

"There isn't always sense in it," Elsa said. "But she needs space from many things. You're possibly one of them. Don't take it personally. Give her time. She'll be home when she's ready."

There was nothing proper for him to say in return, so he mumbled a thank you and hung up the phone.

Giving her time would be easier if he could manage to get even a small amount of decent sleep. The same nightmare has been haunting him since the first night she left, images of being lost in endless hallways mixed with the feeling of losing her permanently. It was entirely unbearable.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for all the love and support :) The end of my current workload is near, then updates will be more consistent :)**


	10. Chapter 10

On the sixth day, he spent most of his time strumming the guitar aimlessly, writing down half-lines of lyrics that could make sense to someone down the road. Out of all of the things that helped fuel his productivity of song writing, sadness was at the top of the list. It turned on a switch in his brain that allowed it to connect more easily with his heart, which helped him process emotions. Or, at least, try to process emotions.

On the living room table sat a bag of drugs he had purchased earlier in the day. The transaction had almost gone awry, when the man selling the drugs tried to run off with them and his money. Killian had prevailed, however, and was now the owner of a small amount of Vicodin, a drug that held the promise of blocking the pain receptors in his central nervous system. He considered the option numerous times throughout the sixth day, and the desire lasted into the seventh day.

With the start of the seventh day, Killian came to a full acceptance that she was not going to come back. She hadn't even called, let alone left a clue as to where she would be. He decided it was no use sticking around an apartment that only reminded him of her. It was in the last six days that he had fully come to terms with his feelings for Emma. She was his best friend, yes. And she was the person who consistently brightened his days, made him feel accepted, gave him a home, because she was his home. He had a feeling from the look in her eyes as she left, and the numerous conversations they had held throughout the years, that she felt the same way.

Or, at least, he thought she might.

And here he was. Waiting around like a fool for a person who obviously had no intention of coming back or even placing a phone call in his direction. Losing sleep, missing deadlines, pacing endlessly, buying drugs. He had fallen into a trap and turned into a person he no longer recognized.

He had to get out of there.

He bought a plane ticket to Los Angeles and packed his belongings into two suitcases that he left by the front door. It was past midnight, but Killian knew he was doing what he had to in that moment. Being alone in the apartment was not healthy, nor were his thoughts. He had to leave before he destroyed himself entirely.

Killian was in the kitchen later that night, or, rather, morning, when he heard someone fumbling with the lock of the front door. The sounds were of a person picking the lock, and he went into defense mode. Grabbing the nearest object, which happened to be a pot, he situated himself near the front door of the apartment, ready to knock out the intruder with his… small…pot… He realized last minute that a knife probably would have been a better option. Before he could change his assault weapon, the door flung open and his eyes met impossibly bright green ones, wide with terror.

"It's me!" the intruder yelled.

He stopped his assault and took in the figure standing in front of him. The long blonde hair and bright red leather jacket stood out in the mostly dark apartment.

"Emma?" Killian dropped the pot to the floor and reached out to her, considering for a moment that she might be part of a dream or hallucination he was having from a lack of sleep. "Emma."

She grabbed the hand that was held out to her, and Killian pulled her into his chest, enveloping her in his arms. Even if it was a dream, he didn't want to miss the moment. He placed his cheek to the top of her head, and held on just a bit tighter. He felt a slight sob tear through her chest, and he wasn't sure why. Stumbling back slightly, she held him at arms length to see the damage her absence had done.

It wasn't pretty.

The dark circles and bags under his eyes left him looking slightly reminiscent of a zombie. The blue of his eyes was almost absent between the dilated pupils and rings around his irises. The look on his face was one of utter surprise, confusion, and disbelief.

He thought she wasn't coming back.

This thought hit her, and she wished he had hit her over the head with the pot, which was the most useless weapon he could have grabbed out of their kitchen filled with heavy, blunt objects and knifes. Being hit with a pot would be less painful than the look he was giving her.

"Killian," she said, firm and calm. She took his hands and pulled him to the couch, forcing him to sit down. She ignored the packed suitcases by the front door because now was not her time to question him. At least, that was her initial thought, until she was able to fully take in the state of the apartment. There were crumpled up pieces of paper strewn across every surface. Cups stacked on the table created a tower that could topple at any moment. And the pills. She saw the bag of little white pills on the table and tears filled her eyes again.

 _What have you done_ , she thought to herself as she looked back at the ghost of a man that sat on the couch, watching her every move, as if afraid to startle her away.

"Killian, what have you done?"

He is far away now, his eyes wild and glazed over.

"Do you need medical help?" she couldn't sit, too worried, too anxious. She began to pace the small living room. Was all of this because of her? She was only gone for a few days…

"No," he said, the first words other than her name to leave his mouth.

"What—why— what's wrong? Why have you been doing this?" she gestured to the table where the pills, cups, and uneaten food sat.

"I haven't been sleeping," he mumbled, still not making eye contact.

"Why?"

No response.

"Killian," she kneeled down on the floor in front of him, and lightly placed her hands on his knees. He jumped at the contact, and his eyes snapped to meet hers. The exhaustion was plain on his face, and his eyes were full of tears.

He hadn't been intending on staying around for another day, he couldn't sleep, not while she was gone. But now she was there, sitting in front of him, a mix of anger and confusion on her face.

"I couldn't," he began. "The nightmares. I'm sorry," Killian put his face in his hands, unable to see her again. See the disappointment and rejection on her face.

All at once, she was next to him, her arms wrapped around him. She placed her head on his shoulder, "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have left like that."

All at once, his eyelids felt very heavy. The week without sleep started to catch up with him. His body was too heavy, his head blurry, and he had no sense of self left.

Emma must have felt the slack of his body against hers because she managed to coax him off of the couch and into his bed.

"Sleep now, please," she said once he was safe and under the covers. "I'll be here in the morning."

She turned and went to leave.

"Emma?" he said so quietly she almost didn't hear. She looked back at him, and smiled softly.

"Yes?"

"You could sleep in my bed tonight," he was already scooting towards the wall to make room for her. While Emma had missed her own bed in the time she was away, she almost missed his more. Whenever he would pull all nighters with David or crash on Will's couch after a night of drinking, she would sneak into his room and sleep in his bed. Even though she was still attempting to process her emotions and feelings for him, she couldn't resist the offer of a warm bed with a man she missed while away.

"Let me go get my pajamas on," she said, quickly leaving the room to change.

When she returned, he was snuggled further down in the blankets, but his eyes were still open and on her as she walked in, closed the door, and delicately walked over to the bed, afraid he would change his mind and ask her to go.

"I'm not going to shoo you away," Killian mumbled, throwing back the blankets for her.

She nodded, and crawled into bed, snuggling up against him. She felt him exhale into her hair while he threw an arm across her middle.

"Thank you for coming home," he said, the drowsiness and obvious exhaustion slipping into his voice.

"I'll always come back," she sighed in return, closing her eyes.

Killian mumbled something else incoherent, as sleep took over and he fell down into a dark pit of dreams filled with the smell of Emma, and half nightmares of waking up to find her gone again.


	11. Chapter 11

Moving Emma in was easier than Killian had thought it would be. It turned out Emma only had a few boxes, and had to purchase a bed and a few other essentials. It was two days before Christmas when she was finally settled into the apartment they now shared. Killian had put up a small, pathetic looking Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. The only lights that were on it were the ones that had come with the tree. If he was being honest, Killian would have never bothered with the thing in the first place. But last year Mary Margaret had purchased David and him the tree, and he figured putting it up would make her happy. Killian was also hoping that the tree would make the apartment feel more like home for Emma.

The day after he put it up, he came home to two stockings hanging by the wall next to the tree. The stockings had their names haphazardly painted on with some sort of glitter glue. The smile on his face was brighter than any of the fancy LED Christmas lights he saw in the store that afternoon.

"I, um, tried to get in the Christmas spirit," Emma said from behind him as he stared at the stockings. "Sorry they aren't more fancy, I—"

"They're perfect," he interrupted, turning around to face her. "I normally don't do the whole Christmas thing. This year it sort of seemed, I don't know…"

"Right?" she gave him.

"Yes. Right," he said in return.

They stood there for a moment, the light from the tree creating a colorful shine in his black hair. It was a comfortable silence filled with admiration and warmth.

Killian shifted his gaze from the Christmas tree to Emma, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lights. It was Christmas Eve, and the peace he felt in the moment of being with her in a very domestic setting was something he hadn't experienced in years. The apartment felt like _home_.

"What?" Emma said when she saw him looking at her. A small blush formed on her cheeks.

"Nothing," Killian smiled.

"No, you looked like you were going to say something."

He considered this for a moment. Part of him admired her ability to get him to talk when he didn't want to. The other part was frustrated that he couldn't get away with just saying "nothing." There wasn't much for him to say beyond trying to put words to the feeling of content happiness he felt.

"I guess," Killian began. "I'm glad you're here, Emma."

"Me too."

The look on her face told him that he didn't need to say more. It was one of gentle acceptance. But there was a distant loneliness he was able to recognize in her eyes because it was the same expression he had seen in the mirror for years. The expression said that she, too, had spent many Christmases alone without trees or presents or family.

"Well, I do believe it is time for my special hot chocolate," Killian smirked, breaking the tension that had risen in the room.

"Special?" Emma eyed him suspiciously.

"Let's just say it's not your grandmother's hot chocolate," he winked, leaving her standing in the living room while he strode to the kitchen to prepare the drinks. After the initial ingredients were put in a pot on the stove, Killian reached up for a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of peppermint schnapps.

"That's your secret ingredient," Emma said plainly, watching him measure out shots into each of the coffee mugs.

"Only one of them, yes," he replied, heading towards the fridge to grab whipped cream. "Do be patient with me, love. I am only one man."

She snorted at this as she took a seat on the counter by the sink.

He worked in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, assembling hot chocolate.

"The finishing touch," he said, sprinkling cinnamon on top of each of their cups. Emma looked at him with vague curiosity.

"That's my favorite," she remarked mildly.

"Great minds," he handed her the warm mug. "SNL's Christmas special is on. Shall we?"

She nodded, smiling at him over her mug. Before sitting down, Emma ducked into her room to change into a matching flannel pajama set.

As their mugs emptied, Emma's giggles and remarks at the show became few and far in between until her breathing was deep and slight snores escaped her mouth. She had fallen asleep with her feet in Killian's lap. He gently shifted her feet off of him, and turned off the TV. He considered waking her, or moving her to her room. But he wasn't sure where the boundaries were quite yet, and he didn't want to wake her up. The Christmas tree left enough light for him to find a warm blanket amongst her half unpacked boxes and throw it over her, taking extra care to make sure it covered her feet.

"Merry Christmas, Emma," he whispered as he looked back at the living room before retreating into his bedroom.

The next morning, Killian awoke to find Emma brewing coffee in the kitchen and humming quietly to herself. She surprised him by pulling out two slim packages from her room and placing them under the tree. He cocked an eyebrow at her from the kitchen counter, where he was making french toast and singing along to Christmas carols.

"They're for you," she explained, a blush rising on her cheeks.

"Well," he said. "Yours are already under there."

Her grin was bigger than he had ever seen it as she located her parcels. Killian joined her on the living room floor and they opened their presents together.

Emma had gotten Killian a small moleskin that would fit in his back pocket along with a new pack of guitar picks. He, in return, gave Emma her own moleskin notebook, a fresh set of pens, and a set of sticky notes that she would always steal from him while they would work in the library.

"Lame gift," Killian said. "I'm a sucker for practicality, though," his ears turned bright red.

"It's perfect," she looked at him with sincerity. "Thank you."

A feeling of comfort and home fell over the apartment while Killian finished breakfast, and Emma cleaned up the living room.

Their first Christmas in the apartment together set a precedent for a tradition that Emma hoped would continue into the next year. And many more, Emma found herself thinking as she fell asleep.

* * *

 **A/N: I thought a nice Christmas break might be good for all of our souls. Happy Holidays! Thanks for reading :) I'll have another update for you soon.**


	12. Chapter 12

He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and no sense of where he was or what time it was.

He clicked at his phone to reveal the time, and saw that it was early evening. He also had three new emails and still no missed call from Emma.

Emma.

He looked around the room quickly and saw she wasn't there. Disappointment set into his chest. It was all just a dream. And he missed his flight. He would have to find another flight, spend more money…

He began to plan out how he was going to get out of Dallas while he rolled over and buried his face into his pillows. They smelled like Emma. Killian groaned loudly in frustration. Maybe he had died and been sent to hell. This would definitely be one of his personal levels.

Then, he heard singing coming from the next room. It was a quiet and peaceful sound. The tune was a song that Killian had written for Emma some years earlier and he had recorded it on a CD for her Christmas present last year. He listened closer and could make out quiet words he had written many months before.

 _"Some day things will be perfect_  
 _it'll be worth it all this time._  
 _Stuck in the middle,_  
 _I know things will get better_  
 _hold it together, take your time_  
 _Stuck in the middle."_

Killian rolled out of bed, deciding that if he was in hell, he might as well try to enjoy himself a bit. He hummed along to the tune she sang as he opened the door and made his way out into the living room. Emma was cleaning the kitchen, and on the island counter there sat a plate of banana pancakes.

 _"You push and then you shove,_  
 _you hate and then you love._  
 _You try to switch it up,_  
 _but you're stuck in the middle,"_ she continued, not noticing his presence.

 _"No matter what you do,  
you had it how you choose.  
Well either way you got to lose when you're stuck in the middle.  
I guess this time I'll wait it out."_

He joined in with her when she made it to the chorus again, changing the pitch of his voice to harmonize with her less than perfect singing voice.

"' _Cause some day things will be perfect, it will be worth it all this time,_ " she startled slightly at his voice turning around quickly with a hand to her heart.

"You scared me," she breathed. "I wasn't expecting you to be up for another ten hours or so."

Her tone was light and teasing, he tried to smile back at her. He moved across the kitchen quickly, needing to hold her in his arms to see if she was really there or if she was just in his imagination. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest. Killian basked in the smell of her hair and the feeling of her in his arms. It seemed dramatic looking back, but he really didn't think he was going to hug her again. Or, at least, not for a long time.

"Here, I got you something," Emma said, pulling back after a minute or two. She retreated into her room and came back with a postcard.

"Oh, you didn't have to," Killian began, but she gave him a look that made him think arguing was a lost cause already. The post card was from Percy Priest Lake in Nashville, Tennessee. The picture on the front was of the sun setting on a big, blue lake with trees on both sides of the frame. "This looks lovely. Is this where you were?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Sort of, for part of it, at least," she cleared her throat. "I actually spent a lot of time at the archives researching."

"Ah," he said, awkwardly flipping the postcard in his hands.

"I'm sorry," she said, not quite making eye contact. "I shouldn't have left like that.

"You said that already."

"I know."

"I'm not mad," he looked her in the eyes. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad I am, too," she sighed, looking at him with tears in her eyes. "I missed you."

"Hey, none of that," he said, wiping away the tear that fell. "I missed you, too."

She leaned in for one more hug before returning to her task of cleaning the kitchen. The postcard served as a peace offering, which Killian thought over as he looked at it again. The back read:

 _Killian,_

 _Wish you were here. You'd love the lake. Although it would be better if there weren't any screaming children. I'll be home soon._

 _-e_

He smiled to himself as he grabbed the suitcases out of the living room and brought them back into his bedroom to unpack. Emma arrived at the door a few minutes into him unpacking.

"Were you going somewhere?" she asked, confusion in her voice.

"Uh, I mean," he scratched the place behind his ear and avoided looking at her. "Yeah. I was just going to go away for a bit. I didn't think…"

"You didn't think I was coming back," she finished for him. An awkward silence fell over them while both refused to look at the other. "I'm just going to…"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he said, nodding a little too vigorously.

Emma left, closing the door behind her, and Killian collapsed face first on the bed groaning. Nothing could go right for more than a few minutes. Maybe he should leave anyway…

 _No,_ he thought as he continued to unpack and look around the room. _That wouldn't solve anything…but will anything solve this?_ There wasn't a clear answer to his question that felt melodramatic.

Emma felt a similar frustration that she took out of the pan she was washing a little too hard. He had accepted her apology, and she couldn't blame him for being upset with her. She just wasn't sure how to make it right again.

They danced around one another for the next few weeks. Killian kept apologizing for little things, and Emma kept insisting he needed to stop apologizing.

He consistently looked like he had something he was about to say, but never did. Emma gave up trying to ask him what it was he was thinking of. He would mostly answer that he didn't know.

Which was true for the most part. Killian truly didn't have anything to say. The time Emma was away had awoken a feeling inside of him that he had been trying to push down for the past year. Now it was harder to burry away. And, if he was being honest with himself, Killian wasn't sure if he really wanted to burry it away. He wanted to see if she would be open to giving _them_ a chance. He knows no way of asking this, though, or even bringing the subject up.

So they continued on, the silence between them tense and awkward. He started to spend less and less time in the apartment, and more time working overtime at the newspaper office or the coffee shop.

About two months later, Killian was at the bar down the street from their apartment. He was supposed to meet Will and David for drinks, but both of them had canceled last minute. Killian was considering leaving when Emma appeared next to him.

"Swan," he nodded towards her as she ordered her drink.

"Jones," she said, nodding in return.

After about thirty minutes of drinking, Emma started to talk more. It was not that she was drunk as much as she found drinking a good excuse to be able to talk to him. He seemed more relaxed than he had been in weeks. They ended up laughing and sharing stories of the ridiculous things that had happened in their absence of regular conversation.

Last call came, and they found themselves stumbling out of the bar and heading back towards their apartment. Emma's laughter is nothing if not infectious, and Killian found himself laughing at things that weren't actually funny just because Emma was laughing, like the time she started laughing at a joke she started but couldn't finish.

They finally made it into the apartment after fumbling with keys for a while, which also led to a fit of giggles. Emma tripped over their welcome mat and started to fall flat on her face. Killian reached out and grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling completely.

His heart jolted in his chest as he began to feel the familiar feeling of longing that he had just started to repress again. He quickly let go of her waist, and instead draped his arm around her shoulders and helped lead her into her room. While she changed into her pajamas, he stood with his back to her.

"Killian, why aren't we friends anymore," Emma sighed, crawling into bed.

"Swan, you know we're friends."

"No, you call me Swan when you're upset with me."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Right now is not the time to talk about this, love."

"Will there ever be a right time?"

He sighed, defeated. He knew she was asking the right questions, and he did not want to answer them.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said as he went to close the door.

"Killian, wait!"

"Yes, _Emma_."

She scowled at him, and he thought he might have seen the tip of her tongue poke out from her mouth.

"Won't you sleep in my bed tonight?"

"Not tonight," he said, and it came out more pained than he had intended.

"Why?" she crossed her arms.

"You're intoxicated," he also crossed his arms, to mirror her stance.

"No, I am barely buzzed," she rolled her eyes dramatically at him.

"Not tonight," he sighed, knowing that his heart could not stand him spending the night in her bed. "Goodnight, Emma."

"Goodnight, Killian," she mumbled, already half asleep.

He closed the door and ran his hand over his face. This woman was going to be the death of him.

* * *

A/N: Just remember that I love you all. Thank you for reading :)


	13. Chapter 13

Emma found herself again at the coffee shop down the street that she and Killian had spent many nights together working on projects. She missed him working here, and not just because he gave her an employee discount. He would take his breaks with her, bring her back to reality, let her bounce ideas off of him. There were many things she missed about him, but being in the coffee shop was easier than being in the apartment. It had been over four months, and she still hadn't gotten quite used to the silence that accompanied his absence.

She was idly listening to the music that the coffee shop had on when she tuned into the catchy chorus:

 _And I almost had you._  
 _But I guess that doesn't cut it._  
 _Almost had you_  
 _I almost wish you would've loved me too._

When she heard, actually heard, the song and its lyrics, an odd feeling settled in her stomach. It all sounded familiar, but she knew she hadn't heard the song before. As the tune continued, she felt herself going into a hyper focused state, straining to hear the music over the bustle of people and grinding of coffee beans.

 _Cuz I almost got popped for a fight with a thug,_  
 _cuz he almost made off with a bunch of the drugs_  
 _that I almost got hooked on cuz you ran away_  
 _and I wish I would've had the nerve to ask you to stay…_

At this verse, she focused back on her laptop, fiercely typing the lyrics she had heard into Google to find out what the song was. The lyrics were the first thing to pop up. It was a song by Bowling for Soup, a name she had heard in passing but had never given much thought to. She opened the page and read the lyrics while the song finished playing in the coffee shop.

 _You kept me guessing and now I'm destined to spend my time missing you,_  
 _I almost wish you would've loved me too._

Her body went numb. The words hit home. What were the chances that someone else had all of these things happen to them?

 _Here I go thinking about all the things I could've done_  
 _I'm gonna need a forklift cuz all the baggage weighs a ton._  
 _I know we had our problems I can't remember one._  
 _I almost forgot to say something else and if I can't fit it in I'll keep it all to myself._  
 _I almost wrote a song about you today, but I tore it all up and then I threw it away._  
 _And I almost had you._  
 _But I guess that doesn't cut it._  
 _Almost had you and I didn't even know it._  
 _You kept me guessing and now I'm destined to spend my time missing you._  
 _I almost wish you would've loved me too._

She found the song on Spotify and put in headphones to listen to it again. And again.

The lyrics were so specific to what her and Killian had gone through. And who Killian was. She had heard many of the stories that were mentioned in the song during their friendship and during the time at the bar right before their big fight. She knew he had beat a drug dealer up when he tried to make off with the drugs he bought while she was away…

She knew he almost dropped out of school numerous times throughout college and his secondary education.

He had moved to LA…

He almost had her…

She quickly began typing in Google to find out more about the song and the band. The song's Wikipedia page had minimal information, but the information she needed. The lyrics were credited to the lead singer of the band and…

Captain.

It was him.

As Killian finished up the last leg of his European adventures, he decided to end the journey with a trip back to Ireland to see his brother. Christmas was fast approaching, and if there was one thing that he craved more than anything after weeks of foreignness it was the familiar feeling of home.

When he finally arrived at the Dublin airport, he found another postcard for Emma on his way out of the terminal. He took a quick break, pulling out his pen from his back pocket, and wrote on the back of the card:

 _Emma,_  
 _Just wanted to say I miss you._  
 _-k_

Shoving the postcard back into his bag, he made his way towards the location where Liam promised to pick him up. It didn't take long for him to see the curly head of blonde hair waiting for him outside baggage claim with a sign that read: "Little Brother."

"Younger brother, to you," Killian laughed as he embraced Liam.

"Oh, shut it," Liam hugged him a bit tighter. "It's been too long."

"It has been," Killian agreed, pulling back as Liam went to grab one of his bags.

They spent the drive back to Liam's home talking about Killian's adventures in the music industry and Liam's adventures of working in the ship yard.

They breezed through idle conversation on the way to dinner. How is work? Where are you living? When are you going to come back and stay in Ireland? What's the latest hit you wrote? Which ends up being an interesting conversation. Killian pulled up the latest hit song on his phone, which he just heard was nominated for a Grammy, and pressed play. The heavy guitar chords blasted out of his phone speakers, and the singing started:

 _I almost got drunk at school at fourteen,_  
 _Where I almost made out with the homecoming queen,_

"Killian, that's just a lie," Liam laughed, and Killian elbowed him the best he could.

 _Who almost went on to be Miss Texas_  
 _But lost to a slut with much bigger breasts._  
 _I almost dropped out to move to LA_  
 _Where I was almost famous for almost a day._

Which earns another eye roll from Liam.

 _And I almost had you_  
 _But I guess that doesn't cut it._  
 _Almost had you_  
 _I almost wish you would've loved me too._

The song ended as they pulled up to the restaurant. There was mostly silence as they got their table and ordered drinks. But it didn't take long for Liam to get to the subject he wanted to address since first seeing Killian at the airport.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush," Liam started, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table.

"You were never one for subtly, brother," Killian said mirroring his position.

"It's a great song."

"And?"

"And you have a choice," Killian started to interrupt him, but he put his hand up. "Hear me out. You're not happy and it's all by your own doing. You are the one making yourself miserable. Your choices are always to end things at almost, and to never push it further than that."

Killian sighed, he knew he was right but he wasn't ready to say the words yet. "What do you suggest I do then? You're just saying the things I already know quite well."

"Oh, little brother. You really don't see, do you?" Liam gave him a look of sadness. "You have to make the right choice. You can either go back to living a miserable life in a place you do not like without the person you know you want to be there. Or, you could do the sensible thing and go and tell Emma your damn feelings and stop living in your world of almosts. Choose her."

They order their food and continue with small, easy conversation. The words Liam said reverberated within Killian's head, his mind always coming back to the phrase "choose her" in the moments of silence. He turned the words around and considered them from many angles. But, at the end of the day, it simply came down to Liam being right. It was like he had been swimming in molasses and the molasses had just turned into water and he could finally move and think clearly. It was all so clear to him.

It was not until they were headed back out to the car that Killian brought up Emma again.

"I have to go back," he said plainly, looking at Liam across the top of the car.

Liam nodded, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I was wondering how long it would take you to realize that."

"I hate to leave you so soon, though," Killian ran a hand through his hair, a sense of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach.

"How about this," Liam smiled at him from the drivers seat. "You go back, and bring Emma back with you next time you come to visit."

Killian grinned at the notion of a future, especially one that involves Emma. It had been a hope he hadn't let himself feel since he left the apartment. Without asking, Liam took the exit to head back towards the airport.

Hugs and promises of a quick return were exchanged, and Killian found himself back in the airport he had just left a few hours before. There was a new electricity running through his veins, though, and his thoughts were tangled up in one another. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, or even how things were going to work out. All he knew is that he was going after her.

Booking a flight wasn't particularly easy, but the time he had to wait before boarding the plane gave him an opportunity to hash out a few verses of lyrics and take care of general housekeeping business with Isaac. He had been bothering Killian about relocating to Nashville for a few weeks, insisting that being closer to those he worked with now would improve his songs and make them more profitable. Isaac had also set Killian up with a man named August that was writing music to go along with Killian's lyrics. August was based in Nashville and ready to start working full time together when Killian returned from Europe. Moving added another layer of complexity to his situation, which was why he hadn't given Isaac an answer about whether or not he would move.

As he opened his laptop, Killian still wasn't in a place to give a certain answer. So instead, he started drafting an email to August that transcribed the lyrics he had scribbled on the back of a napkin in the airport coffee shop.

 _August,_  
 _I'll be back in the states soon. Have a tune to go with these?_

 _And I know you think I'm crazy and I dress up like I'm poor_  
 _I don't do dinner and movies_  
 _But if I showed up at your door_  
 _Would you give me one more minute?_  
 _The story's far from finished_  
 _We could fill in all pages_  
 _Just wanna say I miss you_  
 _I caught it when I kissed you_  
 _And I've been through all the stages_  
 _I'm feeling sick_  
 _Girl, you're so contagious_

 _Rough draft but what are you thinking so far?_

 _k_

About twenty minutes later, August replied with a picture of sheet music with a few bars written out and a short message:

 _See you soon._

Before boarding the plane that would lead him on a long journey back to Emma, he purchased one last postcard from the airport convince store. This time, he wrote a less cryptic message:

 _I'm coming home to you._


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:Holy cow, it's been a long time my friends. Let me say, upfront, I am so sorry for the delay. Life got in the way. Everything got in the way. I thought about this story and all of you at least once a week. I can say now, though, that I now have a college degree in English Education and am currently in process of getting a big girl job. This recent development has also left me time to finish this! This first chapter is just the beginning, I promise I will finish it. What I wrote a few months ago needs some serious work. But let's go! Thanks for sticking with me. I hope to end this story with dignity. This is a short chapter. The ones to follow will be longer :)**

"Your paper is great, Emma," Elsa smiled at her over her laptop. "You have a wonderful start. What's the page count?"

"Thirty for this first draft. I have a bit to go."  
"There is room for development in your argument…"

Elsa and Emma continued their discussion about her capstone paper, considering whether or not her sources could hold up. Eventually the conversation took a turn towards a subject Emma seemed unable to avoid: Killian.

"You're trying to find him?" Elsa asked.

"Yes."  
"And how is that going?"  
Emma was silent. It hadn't been going particularly well. There were only small crumbs in a trail that she needed to be more like footsteps. It was frustrating and infuriating and she had hit a wall.

"Emma," Elsa started cautiously. "Have you considered that maybe… he doesn't want to be found?"

"Well I don't particularly care what he wants right now," Emma snapped back. She took a breath and continued. "And no, I think he does. He's left a trail. He still calls David every now and again. I'm just… I'm worried. And I want to see him. And from his songs, it seems like he wants to see me, too."  
Elsa nodded, seeming to understand. "Have you asked Ruby for help?"

Emma hadn't considered that. Their mutual friend was an amateur private investigator who was slowly becoming more well known. "Maybe. That could help, I suppose."

The two women wandered back to Emma's apartment, floating in and out of conversation about classes and grocery lists. Outside of the door was a small brown envelope. It was addressed to Killian. Emma and Elsa exchanged a look before heading inside.

"Do I open it?"

"I think you have to."

"What if it's anthrax?"

Elsa gave her a tired and disapproving look, "It's a sign."

"I don't believe in that kind of thing."

"Well pretend for a second you do. You need to find him. you should really think about calling Ruby."

"I'm going to do some searching of my own," Emma insisted, "and if nothing comes up, I will call her first thing."

Searching herself turns out to be much more difficult than she initially intended. Turns out that there's not much on the internet regarding him, except for a few speculative forum posts, credits on bands' websites, and a poorly put together HTML website for what appears to be his manager, Isaac. It links to a disconnected phone number and a bad email address. And all of this took her a few days to put together, with still no substantial lead on where he could possibly be.

Where could he possibly be…


End file.
